In Front Of A Fire
by kosmos9
Summary: [Devil Wears Prada] Cold things melt in front of warm things. MirandaAndy.


Fic: In front of a fire

kosmos8

Fandom: Devil Wears Prada

Pairing: Andy/Miranda

"You gotta be fucking kidding me!" Andy screamed into the phone, knuckles freezing, wind whipping around her face. "She wanted hard maple, not red!" Frantic excuses came over the line. "You have it in stock? Then WHY IS IT NOT HERE? Cost is not an issue! Failure is not an option! Be here in ten minutes or less!" She hung up, swearing. Miranda would be here any minute now.

The day before Christmas Eve at Miranda's upstate private winter lodge. Andy was in charge of prepping a cozy family gathering.

Everything else was in place. But Miranda fucking Priestly wanted hard maple firewood, and she was very, very specific about these things.

A few minutes later, Andy stared at the logs being unloaded next to the wood shed beside the house.

"These haven't even been split into cords yet."

So this was why they'd tried to foist red maple onto her.

"How the heck do you people do business?"

It was true Andy had bumped up the order time by 24 hours, but couldn't they have cut the damn things first?

"I don't want excuses. You won't be getting our business next year."

Andy could swear she heard someone mumble "Thank God" but she paid them a hefty tip anyway. After they left, she glared at the chunks of hard maple, as if glaring would make them split themselves into smaller pieces. This was NOT in her job description.

Swearing, she lifted a log to the chopping block, then tested out the weight of several mauls and picked one that felt comfortable. She took a deep breath and began to chop the wood into equal-sized rounds, imagining a slender neck belonging to a certain silver-haired woman with every swing. Despite the cold, she began to sweat profusely, stripping her clothing piece by piece till she was down to a thin blouse. She was concentrating so intently on the task at hand that she didn't even hear the car pulling up in the driveway.

Just as Andy sliced downwards for what seemed like the umpteenth time, she heard a cool voice say, "Do I not give you enough to do around the office?"

She whipped her head up to see Miranda, her face a frozen mask. How long had she been standing there watching her? She wondered how she must look, sweat running down her face, caking her shirt and hair, wood chips splattered over her. How embarrassing. Hastily explaining that the wood suppliers had mixed up the order and brought the wood unchopped, she doubted that Miranda was even listening to her as the woman raked her steely gaze over her.

"I'm really, really sorry," she babbled, not sure why she was apologising. Maybe because she'd barely gotten through less than half the woodpile.

"Bring some of that wood in and start a fire." Miranda turned and headed for the house.

Um, what?

"Don't want your hard work to go to waste, do we? Let's see the efforts of your labour."

Right now?

Miranda stopped, finally revealing a hint of exasperation. "It is freezing, and I will not be responsible if you catch your death of cold out here. Don't keep me waiting."

Andy picked up a couple of the drier cords of wood plus her jaw off the ground, and hurried inside after her. It was definitely getting chilly.

Next to the fireplace were previously-readied pine logs for kindling; Andy placed those on the fireplace and lit them up.

"Here," said a voice next to her. Miranda was holding out a glass of wine. "This should warm you up a bit."

Andy took it with gratitude, then returned her attention to the fire.

"So you were a wood chopper in a previous life?" Miranda said, a rare note of marvel in her voice.

Andy used cut wood for her grandparents out in the countryside every time she visited.

"Good to see that weight of yours being put to good use. I see you're a girl of hidden talents."

It wasn't about how heavy you were, but about how fast you swung.

"You've never seen a girl split wood before?" Andy said grumpily. Damned if she would listen to another fat joke from this woman.

"No," Miranda admitted. Andy looked up, certain she had heard something catch in Miranda's throat, but the other woman was looking out the window.

Andy added a cord of hard maple to the pile, and soon the fire was crackling. She sat on the ground and sighed, feeling the heat emanating towards her. She should probably go back outside to chop and stack the rest of the wood. Maybe she could still catch the evening train back to the city.

The wine and warmth were making her drowsy. She might have fallen asleep right there, sitting cross-legged by the fire, if she didn't suddenly feel a hand cradling her head, running through her hair. She jerked away, suddenly wide awake.

"There was a piece of wood in your hair," Miranda said stiffly. "I was simply removing it."

Andy was more stunned by the revelation that her boss had just touched her. Her hand had been cold; cold enough that Andy felt it through her scalp.

Why wasn't Miranda warming herself by the fire? Andy, filled with daring, pulled Miranda to the ground beside her. Unexpectedly, Miranda did not resist. Andy sipped her wine comfortably, enjoying the quiet of the room. At times like this, her boss almost seemed companionable.

She should probably get everything else ready before the rest of the family arrived.

"Stephen and the children won't be here till tomorrow afternoon."

They hadn't changed their schedule to match Miranda's?

Miranda stared at her wine glass. "I came early."

So the woman wanted some time alone to herself, and just for this reason, she'd had Andy push her entire schedule 24 hours earlier? How selfish.

"I beg your pardon?" said Miranda coldly.

Shit. Had she spoken aloud?

"I was just thinking that, ah, it's selfish of you to want this place all to yourself," Andy said lamely. It's such a beautiful place. I understand why you'd want it -- I mean, the place to yourself. But it's such a waste. To have it all to yourself, that is."

Miranda stared. "I'm sharing it with you, aren't I?"

"Um."

"I mean. I haven't kicked you out yet."

"Should I leave?"

"No." Andy felt Miranda's still-cold hand grab hers. "Stay for a while."

This was more shocking than Miranda trying to pluck wood out of her hair. Andy returned Miranda's grip, letting the warmth seep from her skin to Miranda's. The other woman was staring into the fire, as if hypnotised by the dancing flames.

It had to be the wine, Andy thought, it had to be the intoxicating smell of burning wood, it had to be the adrenaline still coursing through her veins from exerting herself in the cold, it had to be the deceptively sad look in Miranda's eyes, because she could not imagine what possessed her in the next moment to lean forward and kiss the older woman on the mouth.

Instead of drawing back, or slapping Andy across the face, or pouring the remaining wine over her head, Miranda parted her lips and slid her tongue against Andy's, kissing back.

This isn't happening, Andy thought. Miranda was not letting her wine glass fall to the floor, she was not slipping her cold (why were they so cold?) hands inside Andy's shirt, she was not tracing those hands up and down her skin, slick with drying sweat, and she was certainly not unhooking her bra. For that matter, Andy was not really clasping her hands in Miranda's hair, gasping against her mouth, or cupping Miranda's glorious breasts through her blouse. It was not until Andy lay on the ground, bare back against the carpet, that she realised, Miranda just took my shirt off, and yes, it really was happening.

Miranda's tongue, usually reserved for cutting lashes into her employees' psyches, was lapping at her neck, at her chest -- gosh, it was so soft, so delicate -- Miranda was tasting her, savouring the flavour of her skin, mingled with sweat and salt, like it was the best thing she had tasted on earth.

Maybe Andy should try to figure out what was going on.

"Ah, excuse me?" she said, only it came out a strangled cry.

Miranda lifted her head to respond, "Shut up," and Andy did, if only to keep that soft mouth kissing her skin instead of wasting time talking. It returned to its original path, tracing a line of kisses down to her breasts, then the tongue darted out, swiping at her taut nipples before the mouth lowered and suckled on them. The tongue and mouth kept playing with her nipples, licking, biting at the skin, swirling circles around and around, as if Miranda was trying to taste every inch of them. Andy appreciated that Miranda liked her breasts, but it was driving her crazy, and she inexplicably felt she might burst into tears if Miranda didn't stop.

When the other woman showed no signs of moving lower, Andy sat upright, grunting, practically lifting Miranda off the ground with her body.

"You're stronger than you look," Miranda gasped, now sitting in her lap, and Andy had a feeling she wasn't just referring to the way her body had just been maneuvered. In response, she half-crawled backwards towards the couch, half-dragging Miranda with her, and pushed herself upwards until she was seated on the couch, holding Miranda in her lap the entire time. She was pretty proud of her physical prowess until she realized she had no idea what she was going to do next.

Unclothing Miranda might be the next step. She tugged Miranda's blouse and bra off, marveling at Miranda's perfectly shaped breasts, before reaching under the skirt bunched at Miranda's waist.

"Not so shy after all," Miranda murmured, wrapping a leg around her waist, resting the other on the ground. Andy stopped, remembering, this is my boss, and, I don't think I'm ready to see her vagina.

She looked into Miranda's eyes, not sure what she was expecting -- maybe lust, or excitement, or even impatience; she was not prepared to see the wonderment and expectation there. Miranda, awed, by her? Andy was flattered and floored at the same time. If there was ever a bad time to disappoint Miranda, this was it.

"Kiss me," Miranda said, and Andy arched upwards, obeying, tracing her lips down the same path Miranda had taken down her body while bracing Miranda's back with her left hand. She cupped a breast with the other, marveling at how perfectly it fit in her palm, and she played with the nipple with her fingers while teasing the other nipple with her tongue. She realised now why Miranda had spent so much time on her breasts -- she could hardly pull herself away from Miranda's.

Miranda squirmed and whimpered impatiently, and she lowered her hand from Miranda's breasts while continuing to suckle at them with her mouth, reaching down between them awkwardly. This time she did not hesitate to stroke the searing heat and moisture through Miranda's underwear, her mind exploding at the thought that this was for her, caused by her.

Miranda's palms were splayed openly against Andy's back for support, seemingly fascinated at the way Andy's back muscles moved beneath the skin, judging at the way her breath hitched every time Andy tensed or relaxed them. Andy realized those hands were no longer cold, and really, how could any part of Miranda be cold, when she was hiding such a warmth between her legs? She brushed aside the panty cloth and probed a finger into Miranda's wetness, earning her a gasp, a throaty "More," and Andy slipped in another finger, probing gently, trying to find the sweet spot that would make Miranda's eyes roll back. "Harder," then, "I'm not made of glass, you know," and Andy complied, thrusting deeply, forcefully, her wrist screaming with effort, but enjoying the feeling of Miranda's slick walls against her fingers too much to stop.

"And all this time, I thought you were just fat," Miranda gasped, scrabbling at Andy's back muscles with her nails, "when you were just -- well-built --"

Andy shoved her hand in with a little more force than necessary at that comment, digging her own nails into Miranda's back while chomping down on a nipple. Miranda tossed her head back and every part of her body froze rigidly, save the part between her legs, which clenched at Andy's fingers over and over, while her nipples grew, firm and stony in Andy's mouth.

Miranda Priestly is coming in my lap, Andy thought, breathless and aching, dying to touch herself.

Eventually, Miranda's breathing slowed, and her eyes came into focus, eyes narrowing, as if finally realizing the strangeness of the situation.

Andy wondered if she was going to be fired or given a raise.

"It's too late for you to go back to the city tonight," Miranda decided. "You will go back tomorrow morning."

"Okay," Andy said, cringing at how high-pitched her voice sounded.

"When I am through with you," Miranda slid off Andy's lap, sinking between her legs, "you will go out there and chop the rest of the firewood."

"Right," Andy said, raising herself off the couch for Miranda to pull her pants off.

"I'll keep an eye on you. Don't want you slicing your arm off."

"Thank you," Andy gasped, feeling Miranda slide her fingers inside her.

"Need to keep the fire going."

"Of course," and Andy lost all coherent thought as Miranda pressed her warm, warm mouth to Andy's throbbing flesh.


End file.
